When You Weren't Looking
by sparkycircuit
Summary: Emma and Mary Margaret/Snow, missing scenes, starting from season 1. Currently on 1.09.
1. Two Steps Forward

**TWO STEPS FORWARD**

Emma stared silently at the cup in front of her, lifting it to her lips and taking a sip before glancing stone faced out at the empty street. It was empty in the little diner and she had the most unfortunate feeling that from the way that the girl at the counter was eyeing her (what was her name? Ruby, she thought- she vaguely recalled the girl having introduced herself) that closing time was probably approaching. But that was fine, it wouldn't be the first time she'd out stayed her welcome in a diner, and it probably wouldn't be her last. She kept staring out the window, only breaking her gaze from it when her eyes stopped focusing on the street and instead on her own face, tired and worn in the diner window. She glanced down. She didn't need to see that.

It really had been a crappy birthday. A complicated, crappy, birthday, and the day that had followed hadn't been any different. Henry, that kid was certainly his father's son, which was just another set of unpleasant thoughts she didn't feel like following to their conclusion. She took another drink of the hot chocolate and glanced over at Ruby, who was wiping down the counter. She'd done that at least four times since she'd been here- Emma was starting to think that she was doing it just so she'd look like she was doing something, though she wasn't sure why she'd care- it wasn't like Emma cared either way.

She did look up, though, broken free of her thoughts by the entrance of a woman she recognized through the doorway. Mary Margaret Blanchard. "Hey Ruby," the woman said fondly, walking up to the counter and rocking on her heels for a moment. "Can I just get a cup of hot chocolate?" she asked. Emma wondered, idly, if this was a usual occurrence for her (a late night jaunt to the diner seemed a strange trip for a schoolteacher), then banished the thought. What difference did it make to her?

"Sure, Mary Margaret," Ruby said, pulling out a cup and doing the requisite preparations while she and Mary Margaret carried on idle chat with an easy intimacy of familiarity bound in sheer time spent together in a small town that Emma wasn't used to. She hated small talk, hated the niceties of it- she'd never gotten used to it- she'd never stayed in any place long enough to get used to it.

"There you go," Ruby said, sliding the cup over the counter.

"Thanks." Emma assumed the conversation over, so she stopped eavesdropping and returned to staring idly out the window, wrapped up in her own thoughts.

That made it all the more surprising when Mary Margaret saw fit to stop her mid thought. She looked over, surprised. "Oh, I hope I didn't disturb you." Emma had a feeling that it was nearly impossible for the mild mannered woman to actually disturb anyone.

"I didn't actually hear what you said," Emma said, wrapping her hand around the mug, her fingers tensing against the ceramic.

"Oh, I asked if you minded if I sit?"

Emma was taken aback. She wasn't sure why Mary Margaret would want to sit with her. She couldn't imagine why the woman would care what she did either way. But the woman's expectant look urged her to answer, so she just said the first thing that popped in her head. "Uh, sure," she said, sitting up a bit straighter as Mary Margaret smiled and slid into the booth across from her. She pulled the cup closer, suddenly uncomfortable. She didn't like small talk.

Luckily, Mary Margaret didn't seem too inclined to deal with small talk either. "I just wanted to say that I hope I didn't offend you, earlier," she started earnestly. "I didn't mean to imply anything about Henry or your choices," she said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

Emma opened her mouth to say something but shut it again, choosing instead to take another drink. The last in fact, she realized with some regret, setting down the empty mug. "Uh, no. That hardly ranks among the things that have been said to me," she said frankly, hooking the handle of the mug with her finger and moving it around idly, just to give herself something else to think about.

As a result of her focus on the mug, she missed the moment of concern that passed over Mary Margaret's face quickly, only to be replaced with the usual calm. "Well, all the same. I didn't mean to imply anything. I think it's good that you're here." Emma's eyes flicked up at that, narrowing as she considered Mary Margaret's face. The woman appeared sincere, which just made it seem even odder. "Mayor Mills can be- she can seem to look right through people, sometimes. I don't know that it's the best thing for a boy." After the admission, Mary Margaret looked down, seeming to think that she'd said too much.

The statement surprised Emma with the pain it caused- the pang within her that she hadn't even known that she could feel. It was time to go. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. "I should get going," she said, standing and taking a few dollars out of her pocket and tossing them onto table for Ruby, before turning and making for the door. Mary Margaret's voice rang out behind her.

"Are you going back to Boston?"

Emma's hand hesitated on the door handle. She didn't want to answer the question. But for some reason she couldn't bring herself to be rude to Mary Margaret and just not answer at all, key to her room at Granny's not withstanding. So she settled for a non-answer. "Good night, Mary Margaret," she answered, pulling the door open and heading out into the cool night, desperate to outrun the observant woman and her questions. She headed straight for her car, letting herself in and sitting in the driver's seat. She went so far as to put the key in the ignition, but she didn't turn it. She pulled the key to her room at Granny's out of her pocket, considering. As she looked at it, though, something past it caught her eye, and she dropped the key back to her lap, focusing her attention on the clock tower.

She froze, and looked harder, swallowed. It couldn't be. She got out of the car, goose bumps prickling at the back of her neck. The clock had moved. She felt another surge to run, to assume that Henry had been wrong about the clock, but even as she got in the car, her resolve to leave relented.

It didn't help that Mary Margaret's words were still ringing in her ears. _I don't know that it's the best thing for a boy. _They were burned to her heart. She cursed, got out of the car and slammed the door, and started back down the street towards Granny's Bed and Breakfast.

She was staying after all.

* * *

So this is the first of that series I'd talked about for those of you who have read some of my other OUAT stuff- missing scenes and such between MM/Emma. I'm already working on the next one. A huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. I hope you enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	2. Open Doors

**OPEN DOORS**

Emma'd been debating whether or not she wanted to make this particular trip for the last hour and a half, and she knew it was going no where. She didn't even know what it was that had her so worked up- the feeling that she _hated _having to pay Mary Margaret back in the first place or was it that she hated having to come here like this with her shame for everyone to see, or was it all of the above? There was a reason she'd been avoiding small towns since foster care- she hated them. Too many people wanting to get involved in her life.

Like the Daily Mirror. That had been enough to set her just a little off her game, which probably explained how she'd even let herself be taken in by Dr. Hopper's little 'sure you can look at the files' nonsense. Shouldn't she know better then that? Probably. That was the trouble with this town. There were too many complications, too many mitigating circumstances.

But standing in the hallway wasn't going to get rid of any of them. She knocked and hoped, briefly, that Mary Margaret wasn't home and she could just escape this whole situation by sliding the envelope under her door or something, but the door opened impossibly quickly, and there she was, looking too much like a school teacher and too kind to be dealt with in the normal Emma Swan way that she usually dealt with people. It was a problem.

"Hey." Mary Margaret's was still looking at her, so she scrambled for words. She had practiced what she was going to say, but she was so not used to being in this entire situation that it was like the words had flown out of her head as soon as the door opened. She had to get out of Storybrooke- she needed her equilibrium back. "I just wanted to say thank you and um…" she looked down at the little envelope in her hand. There was more to that envelope- an admission of weakness that she hated in it that she just wanted it out of her life as quickly as possible. She held it out. "And pay you back for the bail money." Thankfully, Mary Margaret didn't say anything about it like she'd been afraid she would, so now she really had no idea what to do. It didn't help that Mary Margaret was looking at her so carefully that it made her feel like she was almost looking through her, looking through it all.

It made her want to run, and Mary Margaret still hadn't said anything, so she just gave a sort of awkward shrug and tried to go. But of course, that was when Mary Margaret decided to speak up. "You look like you need to talk." It was amazing how seven words could shift an entire evening on its head- for all intents and purposes, Emma had intended on getting out of there and going home (to her car, which wasn't so bad, in terms of homes, she'd had worse) but now she suddenly found it was better to look anywhere but actually at Mary Margaret. To her own surprise, though she didn't say anything, she just stepped inside the apartment.

Mary Margaret shut the door after her, and she suddenly felt a little bit of a blush rise up in her cheeks. Now she really had no idea what to say. This was the second time in two days she'd found herself faced with the prospect of uncomfortable small talk with the woman- she didn't really understand how she found herself in these situations. Maybe this was the universe's idea of a practical joke. Spend twenty-eight years keeping her out of situations that involved small talk, and then her birthday hit and all the sudden her kid is on her doorstep and she's in the house of his teacher because 'she looked like she needed to talk'. It was all a load of crap.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Mary Margaret, who was still giving her that kind look that made her want to scream and run at once. "You can have a seat, if you want," she said, nodding towards the little table and heading past the island into the little kitchen area. Emma didn't say anything, just went and sat, taking the time to look around the little apartment.

It was impossible to put her finger on, but the little apartment felt like Mary Margaret, in a way that she couldn't really explain. Maybe it was because she didn't really tend to move into her apartments so much as look at them as occasional rest stops, but she had never noticed how much a person's apartment could feel like them, but after seeing it, she had to admit- they just clicked. All of which was completely ridiculous. She'd known Mary Margaret for all of five minutes, and she'd probably only know her for another ten. What was the point in putting all of this thought into her life?

"Is hot chocolate okay?" Emma's head snapped up at the question, furrowing her brow at Mary Margaret. The woman had two mugs in her hand, and was clearly waiting for an answer.

"Oh, you don't really need to do that," she said, the blush creeping back in her cheeks.

"I want to," Mary Margaret said with a shrug. "I figured hot chocolate was a safe bet, since you ordered it at the diner the other night," she said, turning and starting to fix the drinks.

Well, Emma had nothing to say to that. So she looked around the apartment instead. Her eyes fell on the Daily Mirror by the door. "It's a terrible article." She looked up at that, embarrassed. Mary Margaret was watching her carefully from behind the counter like she was a wounded animal who might bolt, which, while not an inaccurate description, still surprised her.

"What?" she asked, hardly believing that she and Mary Margaret had been talking about the same thing. After all, the reasons she had for thinking the article was terrible were completely different. For example, there was the fact that she couldn't really bring herself to get too angry about it. There was, for example, the fact that it was true.

"It's a terrible article," she repeated, shaking her head. "I can hardly believe Sydney wrote it."

"Oh." She looked down at that, tracing the top of the table with fingers. She looked up when Mary Margaret brought her a cup of hot chocolate, taking it and lifting it to her lips after a moment. She hesitated after she tasted it. "Cinnamon?" she asked curiously, looking at Mary Margaret. Ruby had looked at her like she was crazy when she asked for it last night- but how could Mary Margaret know that? And Henry knew, but she couldn't imagine why it would have come up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have asked," Mary Margaret said quickly, hesitating as she stood, holding a plate of cookies. "It's a little quirk of mine, do you mind?" She sank down into her chair as she spoke, offering a plate of cookies as she did.

"Oh, thanks," Emma said, with the oddest feeling that it was strange that so many people liked cinnamon on their hot chocolate. It couldn't be that common, could it? But she shoved that away. She had questions of her own now, anyway. And for some reason the little bit of cinnamon on top of the hot chocolate had given her the gumption to ask them. "When you bailed me out you said that you trusted me. Why?"

Mary Margaret looked down at her cup and gave a little shake of her head. "It's strange, ever since you've arrived here, I've had the oddest feeling that we've met before." She gave Emma a little smile and continued. "I mean, I know it's crazy.

"I'm starting to reevaluate my definition of crazy," she replied, thinking back to the clock and all the little things in town that just didn't quite add up. She didn't think Henry was right, certainly, that would be insane, but something wasn't quite right. Regina had made that perfectly clear.

"For what it's worth, I think you're innocent," said Mary Margaret in a joking tone, tilting her head.

Emma felt an odd warmth wash through her and answered quickly lest she succumb to that. She wasn't one for warm or squishy feelings. "Of breaking and entering, or just in general?" She asked, only half joking.

She smiled over the rim of her cup. "Whichever makes you feel better."

Emma gave an awkward laugh. "It doesn't really matter what anyone thinks I did or didn't do," she said, hesitating for a moment before looking at Mary Margaret and continuing, now prepared to give the answer she had avoided last night. "I'm leaving," she said, her mouth a grim line as Mary Margaret blinked and looked down, but didn't say anything. "Thank you, for everything," she said sincerely, "But I think it's for the best." She had expected that to be the end of it, but she continued, suddenly feeling like she was justifying herself for some reason she couldn't place. "If I stay, Henry's only going to keep getting hurt." She couldn't fathom why she cared what Mary Margaret thought of her decision either way beyond allowing herself, for a moment, to imagine what it might feel like for someone to care about where she was. But that thought was silly, and she banished it instantly. Why would Mary Margaret care? They'd known each other for all of ten minutes.

"What happens if you go?" Emma didn't have an answer for that, so she said nothing, swallowing as she watched Mary Margaret, her hands clenched tight around the cup. "I think the very fact that you want to leave is why you have to stay." This time when Mary Margaret looked at her, she could feel it again, the oddest feeling that Mary Margaret could see right through her. There was something else, though- the same feeling, she'd imagined, that Mary Margaret had described. The oddest feeling that they knew each other. "You care about him."

She broke her gaze at that. That was a terrifying thought, but the minute that Mary Margaret had said it, she'd known it was true, for better or worse, whether she'd admitted it to herself or not. But Mary Margaret wasn't done, and there was a certain strength to her tone this time. "Who will protect Henry if you won't?" Now she looked at her again, and while there was no accusation in her face, there was certainly a question. She let out a small breath. She wanted to answer that Regina would protect Henry, someone, anyone but her. There was a reason she had given him up, for better or worse, and she didn't know what to do about that now.

"I don't know," she replied honestly, shrugging and breaking their gaze again, suddenly embarrassed because she didn't have an answer. She should have one, right?

"Well, I've never been a mother," Emma glanced up at that and noticed a strange look pass over Mary Margaret's face- it looked like an old regret renewed. She recognized that face. She'd worn it plenty of times. "But I think it's worth considering. He came looking for you. He didn't do that for no reason."

Emma thought of her own desperate search for her parents, all the pain she'd felt, everything. Her outburst at the castle to Henry came rushing back, as did the mess Regina had made. She could still remember the hurt on his face, everything. Her jaw tightened. She couldn't mention that to Mary Margaret. It was too shameful; it hurt too much, maybe both. Maybe that was reason enough to stay. Regina had no soul, and that couldn't be good for Henry. "Right." She looked up at the clock and did some quick mental math. She could go talk to Henry now; he should still be with Archie, which meant he wouldn't be with Regina. She stood. "I have to go," she said, glancing at Mary Margaret. "And talk to Henry."

Mary Margaret smiled and nodded. "Of course." Emma made for the door, but stopped when Mary Margaret spoke. "Are you going back to Boston?"

Swallowing, she looked back. Mary Margaret was still sitting, and that same understanding was in her eyes, but it bothered her less, somehow, this time. "No. Not for now," she admitted after a long moment. She glanced down, around, anywhere but at Mary Margaret. "Thank you," she repeated again, softer, though whether that was in regards to the hot chocolate, the bail, something else entirely, she wasn't sure, but she left before she could think too much about it.

But halfway down the block to Archie's office, she realized what she was thanking her for, something she'd not had reason to thank someone for in a very long time- friendship.

* * *

So here's part two of the series! I'm less happy with this one then part one, but I'm enjoying writing them. I'm working on part three, but I'd like to get a few parts ahead before I start posting them, so I probably won't post it until laters this week. A huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. I hope you enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	3. So Lie in It

**SO LIE IN IT**

Emma sat quietly on the bed, staring at the little room. She was sitting on top of the covers, of course, like she always did. It was the way she had always slept, ever since she was little. After the fourth home in a year and a half, it had become like a game she played- how long could she go at a home without ever actually having to make the bed? Some places it had had a double advantage- her bed was never mussed, the room always spotless, which meant she wouldn't get slapped or no dinner or something for being messy (she was usually making enough trouble for that to come other ways)- she had nothing of her own to keep there, anyway, and everything of hers she never really bothered to take out of the boxes. When she got around to calling her landlord in Boston to make the arrangements for moving here, it would be simple- her stuff was still in boxes for the most part, the apartment more or less the same as it had been when she moved in.

The bed was made, of course.

She took a moment to look around the little room again. It was cozy, of course, as much a reflection of Mary Margaret as the rest of the apartment was. Mary Margaret had said an odd thing when she'd shown her the room- mentioned that she'd never really had a guest, or a roommate, which begged the question of why the woman even had such a neatly made up little guest room in the first place. It was just another of many things that she didn't understand. Like how Mary Margaret had insisted that she hold off on giving her rent money until she'd found a job in town, or any of the rest of it. The job issue was one she was going to have to fix soon- she couldn't deal with people's charity on the best of days, and this was not one of her best of days, or weeks, really.

Like the fact that after talking out the basics of being roommates with Mary Margaret, Emma had beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom, begging off of any further conversation for the moment. Of course once she'd gotten upstairs she'd realized she had exactly nothing to do except be alone with her thoughts. She'd even called her super in Boston to try and make arrangements for the move, but she'd had to leave a message. So now she'd been sitting here for a long time, just her and her thoughts, and well, it wasn't exactly happy company.

Just in the past week, she was starting to remember why she hated Maine. There was, for example, the old hatred that was admittedly insane that reminded her that this was where her parents had abandoned her. There was the old but less old hate that reminded her that the first place she'd come when she was eighteen was Maine, some stupid crusade, some stupid attempt to find her parents that had just turned into another reminder of how much they didn't want her. The trip that had sent her far away, as far away as one could really get, Portland (not the one in Maine, the other one), which led to… him, which led to Arizona, which led to Henry, all of which led to here. She hadn't asked for any of it, and the unfairness of it all made her angry, though at who or what she wasn't sure. Probably herself. When all else failed, it was easier to just blame herself.

A knock at the door broke her free of her thoughts. "Emma?" Mary Margaret was demure even when calling through doors in the middle of the night, apparently. "Can I come in?"

"Uh," she hesitated, sitting up a bit straighter, running a hand through her hand. What had she done now? Had she screwed something up? Had Mary Margaret actually read the Daily Mirror article again and realized how crazy she was for taking her in? All of those things seemed perfectly plausible. "Come in."

The door swung open slowly to reveal Mary Margaret. Her makeup was gone, and she was dressed in loose pants and a loose shirt- clearly getting ready to go to bed. "I saw that the light was still on, and I just wanted to check in on how you were doing," she said, though she didn't move from where she was in the doorway. She was clearly nervous too. That was okay, Emma could work with that. At least she wasn't the only one who wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Oh," she shrugged, looking down at her feet. She still had her shoes on, and her jacket. She hadn't really moved from where she was currently sitting since she'd come up. "I'm fine," she answered truthfully.

Mary Margaret nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is the room okay?" she asked, glancing around it as though certain Emma had found some imperfection.

She was just glad it wasn't a car. "Oh, no, the room's fine."

"Good." She nodded again, looking down for a moment, her arms tightening around her middle before her gaze fell back on Emma, and then she looked around again, curiously. "Do you have any clothes or anything?" she asked softly, looking at Emma carefully, clearly having just put together that there was nothing of Emma's in sight.

Emma looked down, suddenly embarrassed. As if it wasn't enough that she'd had to ask Mary Margaret for a place to stay, and the woman had bailed her out and made more sense in the last couple days then anyone had in years, now she was seeing just how little she had, literally. "Oh, no. Henry caught me by surprise, and I didn't really grab anything since I wasn't expecting to stay. I've been making do." She shrugged.

The other woman nodded again. "If you like, you can borrow something of mine to wear," she offered, though it came out sounding like more of a question then anything else.

"No, I'll be fine," Emma answered automatically. "You've done enough, really," she added a moment later, looking anywhere but at the other woman. She risked a glance back at Mary Margaret but got only a kind smile in response.

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," she said. Emma nodded. "Well, if you don't need anything, I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Can I ask you a question?" Mary Margaret nodded her permission, and Emma tensed her jaw before asking. "Why didn't you already have a roommate or something? I mean, this is a nice room, I'm surprised it's empty." She didn't mention that she was also surprised that Mary Margaret lived alone considering how nice she was- she seemed like a good enough roommate as it was, and she'd only been here for an hour. But she'd never admit such things aloud- she could hardly admit them to herself.

If Mary Margaret looked surprised by the question, she didn't show it. "I don't know," she answered honestly, glancing at something behind Emma's head, one hand raised to touch her chin, a classic posture to show that she was thinking. "I suppose it's just always been here, though now that I think of it, I don't think anyone's ever stayed here." She frowned a bit and then shrugged and looked back at Emma. "But no matter," she said, smiling at her now. "You're here, so it's not empty any more." She dropped her arms from her chest. "And I am happy you're here."

Emma looked for a lie in that, certain she'd find it, but was surprised when she didn't. Whether it was a happy discovery or a terrifying one, she wasn't sure. "I, uh-" she hesitated, gathered herself. "Thanks," she settled on, finally, still not looking at Mary Margaret.

"Of course." Mary Margaret stifled a yawn with her hand. "Well, I think that's a clue that I should get to bed, I have to teach tomorrow. And let me tell you, a class room full of ten year olds cannot be taken on without a good night's rest." She went to leave, but stopped. "Before I forget- It gets a bit chilly sometimes, at night, there's extra blankets in the hall closet if you need them." She thought for a moment. "And there's towels on the rack in the bathroom." She smiled at that, and Emma marveled at the way such little familiarities could make her feel so… invited. She hadn't felt that way in a long time, maybe ever, if she was being honest with herself. "I'll see you tomorrow." Emma just nodded dumbly. Mary Margaret nodded back, grabbing the door knob. "Good night, Emma."

"Good night, Mary Margaret," she answered back with a faint smile which only faltered once the door shut with a soft click as she realized how long there had been anyone to wish good night to or to wish it back.

She fell back on the bed with a sigh. That night, when it got cold, she ignored it. But by the time a few weeks had passed and it was still cold in the apartment, she couldn't help it, she gave in. And after that, the bed was never made and that made it feel like something different. Like home.

* * *

I think this was my favorite one so far. Part four coming soon, probably later this week! As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. I hope you enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	4. Box It Up

**BOX IT UP**

Emma opened the door (it was still strange to have a key, a lock, and a place to go home to in Storybrooke, but short a time as it had been, it was kind of nice, she had to admit) and walked into Mary Margaret's apartment (she still hadn't quite gotten used to calling it her apartment, she was working on that), tossing her keys on the table.

"Emma?" she still wasn't used to that either, someone to come home to, Someone to care about whether or not she came home at all. But it was nice, she had to admit, because today, of all days, she needed it.

"Hey," she replied, walking over to the couch and eyeing the boxes that were still there. She sat down and started to pull off her boots. She looked up at Mary Margaret, who had pulled aside the curtain separating her bed from the rest of the room. She was folding laundry. The image was strange, somehow, causing Emma to glance at her clothes, haphazardly thrown in the boxes. She hadn't folded laundry in a long time.

"Did you help Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret's voice was all curiosity, but not the kind that would normally annoy her. It didn't feel prying, like most people's questions did. It was genuine, just curious. Strange, but not entirely unpleasant.

Emma looked down at her boots and tossed them into one of the boxes- she'd make sense of that mess later. Shrugging and crossing her arms over her chest she stood and walked over to where Mary Margaret was folding clothes. "Sort of." There were a lot of words for what she did to help Ashley- she wasn't sure helping Gold was one of them.

"Well that's good." Mary Margaret just smiled kindly at her and went right along folding her clothes. "You can sit down, if you like," she said, moving aside some of the clothing to leave a space. "What'd he want you to do, if you don't mind my asking?"

Emma wasn't quite ready for that. So she just shook her head. "I'm okay, thanks." At Mary Margaret's next question, she thought for a moment. Did she mind? She guessed she didn't, which was surprising. "Do you know Ashley? Ruby's friend?" A moment of thought, and then a nod. "Well, apparently she made some sort of deal with Mr. Gold for her baby, and she made a run for it, and Gold wanted me to get her back."

The other woman had stopped what she was doing, a shirt balled in her lap, watching Emma with a look somewhere between curiosity and confusion. "Well, did you get her back?"

"Yes, but I made a deal with Gold." She glanced down, blushing just enough to make her feel self-conscious. "Ashley's keeping the baby."

"Well that was kind of you."

Emma just shrugged, avoiding Mary Margaret's eyes, which she could feel on her face. She probably had a thousand questions, questions about Henry, about why now, why Ashley, but she didn't want to answer them, and mercifully, Mary Margaret didn't ask, so they sat there in silence for a while, until Emma finally felt uncomfortable, as though she should say something. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to work out what that something should be. "So uh. What'd you do today?"

"Oh, nothing exciting," Mary Margaret said, folding a shirt and added it to a pile that was so neat it seemed impossible to Emma. But then again, part of the reason she'd never really minded living out of boxes was because it meant she didn't really have to clean or fold or anything. She could just chuck it back in the box. "I just cleaned a bit and made a run to the grocery store- I picked up some cereal, since you said you liked it- and then I did laundry."

Emma couldn't remember even mentioning that she liked cereal. Well, maybe she had that morning, when Mary Margaret made them breakfast while she waited for her boxes. She honestly couldn't remember, which made the whole thing even stranger. "Oh, thanks," she said, glancing down. "And that sounds like a nice day," she said, tugging her arms a little tighter around herself.

Mary Margaret watched her, and seemed to want to say something, but thought better of it. She just smiled instead. "It was nice," she said, nodding. "Did you finish unpacking?" she asked after a moment.

"Oh, no, I was dealing with Gold all day," Emma said, thankful for a neutral topic, though she still remembered this morning, how Mary Margaret and Henry had commented on the little stuff she'd brought with her. It made her oddly embarrassed, but why should it? She wasn't sentimental; she didn't need a lot of stuff. "I'll get my stuff out of your way tonight, though," she said, realizing that she'd just left it sitting there all day, Mary Margaret was probably annoyed by having her boxes sitting around.

"Take as long as you need, Emma," she said, pausing mid fold, letting the pair of pants rest of her arm. "I just wanted to make sure you were settling in alright."

Emma just nodded at that. She wasn't sure what to say, so nothing at all was probably the safest choice. But she did have news. "So, I talked to Graham today," she started, thumbing the sleeve of her jacket with one hand just to have something to do.

"Did you?" There was something in Mary Margaret's tone, a tease, maybe, but she couldn't quite place it, so she ignored it.

"Yes." When Mary Margaret didn't say anything for a moment, Emma looked up and found Mary Margaret looking at her, waiting for something. "I'm his deputy now. Badge and everything." She wrinkled her nose at that. Hopefully Graham didn't want her to wear one of those awful tan uniforms sheriff's deputies were always wearing elsewhere. If he could walk around in a vest and jacket all the time, she didn't need to wear the uniform.

"Emma, that's wonderful. Congratulations." The smile on Mary Margaret's face was genuine, and Emma found herself smiling in response.

"Thanks," she said sincerely. "I start on Monday."

Mary Margaret nodded, and continued to nod for a moment as she folded. After a moment, she stopped folding her shirt and dropped her hands to her lap, looking up at Emma "So you're putting down some roots, huh?"

Emma's eyes flicked down at that and she frowned a little before nodding. "I guess I am." The admission was odd. It didn't scare her as much as it probably should have, which was, in itself, scary. But roots were good, and later that night, she did something she hadn't done in a long time. She folded her clothes, and put them away, and she forgot about the boxes. At least for now.

* * *

I hope you enjoy it. Part five is already written, and will probably come sometime this week. Part six might too, since it's spring break and I have plenty of time to write. As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. I hope you enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	5. Protect What's Yours

**PROTECT WHAT'S YOURS**

An hour's worth of fixing whatever Archie had done to Henry still didn't feel like enough. She'd dropped him off at Regina's office with a half hearted 'I'm sorry, kid,' and that seemed to help a little, but it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough to be honest, but this especially felt like more then just being a new presence in her son's life. This felt like a failing as a mother, somehow, but what was she supposed to do about it? She hadn't even known she could be a mother, that she should be, that she might want to be until now.

She might want to be. That was quite the admission.

So she'd wandered back in the direction of home rather aimlessly. She should sit in her car. That usually gave her ideas, if nothing else. Normally when she was sitting in her car, she could think straight. She had a sense of self there that she usually felt unsure of everywhere else. But when she got to her car, she'd realized she'd left her key in the apartment, somehow. Frustrated, she half sat half leaned on the hood of the car, staring out at the quiet little town and pondering how annoying it was to be stuck without even her usual place to think.

"Emma?" She turned towards the sidewalk. Mary Margaret was standing there, looking rather bewildered. "I thought you were taking Henry to the mayor's office?"

"I did."

"Oh." Mary Margaret tilted her head to the side, furrowed her brow. "What're you doing here, then?"

She sighed harshly, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. Trying to think, I guess?" Emma supposed she wasn't okay with how this whole Henry situation had made her feel, but more importantly, she wasn't okay with how it made Henry feel. She was angry at Archie, but more then that, she was angry at Regina. Because this had her name written all over it. Archie seemed nice enough, but he also had been used by Regina before, and this just was another play in this little game of hers.

Emma was about ready to toss out the board and play a different game altogether.

"About Henry?" Emma nodded. Mary Margaret frowned. "He's a sweet boy, it's hard to see him so upset." That was the understatement of the century. "But you were good with him."

Emma gave her a strange look. That was ridiculous. She barely knew how to handle herself, let alone Henry. She'd been in town for so little time. She had no idea what she was even doing. But Mary Margaret looked so sure of herself and what she said. It was absurd, wasn't it? "Well, I just said what I thought," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away, walls firmly up. She didn't want to talk about this, she didn't want assurances, she didn't want empty words.

"Well, they seemed like the right ones." Emma didn't look at Mary Margaret. "I can't imagine why Archie would say such things to him, though." Now she looked at her. Mary Margaret looked at least as bewildered as she felt.

"Considering that he's the one who told me 'not to take the fantasy away', it's not exactly what I expected his treatment plan to be." There was an edge of sarcasm to her words that probably revealed more about how angry about the whole thing she was then she wanted, but she couldn't stop it.

Mary Margaret frowned a little at that. "That doesn't sound like Archie at all."

"Yeah, well, I haven't been too impressed by him." Emma knew she wasn't being fair, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Better to change the subject. "Where are you going?" She asked, noting the bag on Mary Margaret's arm. She hadn't mentioned going anywhere earlier.

"I have a volunteer shift a the hospital, remember?" And she did remember her roommate mentioning something about that, vaguely. There was something else in her look, though. A little guilt? That was an emotion that Emma could pinpoint with an accuracy unlike anything else. It was a useful skill for a bail bondsperson to have.

"A volunteer shift, huh?" She raised an eyebrow at Mary Margaret's blush. Now it was her turn to look away. "Planning on spending time with a certain patient?"

"He'll be there." That was a very Emma Swan-esque non-answer. It was troubling to hear from Mary Margaret.

She wasn't even sure why she cared so much about whether or not Mary Margaret got involved with David. It wasn't her business either way, and she'd generally held it as a rule not to get involved in other people's lives or decisions. But for some reason she felt the need to protect Mary Margaret. She wasn't sure why. Mary Margaret was a grown woman, she could do what she wanted, and in so many ways, she seemed so much older then Emma did, even though she was almost positive they were the same age. She hadn't seen her birth certificate or anything, but they were close enough. She would have resented Mary Margaret telling her what to do, so why did she think it was her place to get involved in what Mary Margaret did?

Maybe because Mary Margaret _had _been involved since they'd met. She'd been giving Emma advice since those first days in Storybrooke, honestly, and it had been useful advice. And if Mary Margaret seemed older then her, or wiser, in some way, or at least more in touch with her emotions, in this way, Emma was almost certain she had more experience. Henry alone was proof of her heartbreaks, her life. So she felt the oddest need to protect Mary Margaret from this, warn her off, because there was no way it would end well. She didn't know David very well, but she didn't want him to hurt Mary Margaret. And it was true, nothing good every came of getting involved in with a married man. She'd had enough experience to know that much.

"We're just friends, anyway." Emma was brought back to reality by Mary Margaret's words. She didn't believe them for a second- whether they were friends or not, what Mary Margaret wanted was written all over her face- but she decided to let it go, for now. She was finding that sometimes the little lies people told themselves they told for a reason. She'd always been painfully self aware, but the painful part of that statement was a burden, she knew. Besides, she had a feeling that the tone of the entire conversation about David was just trouble waiting to happen. It revealed entirely too much about her and what she'd done and where she'd been. That was dangerous.

"Sure." But she found that Mary Margaret, like Henry, had lodged herself in her heart and she hated them both for it while she cared at the same time. She'd never been very good at holding her tongue. "I'm glad you're friends, but think about what I've said." She locked eyes with Mary Margaret, now- the eye contact was less uncomfortable then it would have been a week ago. "Nothing good ever came of being involved with a married man." She could amend that statement to nothing good ever came of being involved with a man, but truthfully nothing good ever came of being involved with people, and besides Mary Margaret was too much of an optimist to believe in such a statement, she thought.

"I will." She paused for a moment, thought, and then smiled sadly, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a sadness behind that smile, Emma realized. It was strange. That smile wouldn't have looked out of place on her face. "But we can't always help what we feel." Mary Margaret looked down at her arms.

Emma was glad she'd looked away, She just swallowed, clutched her walls ever tighter around herself. She couldn't do this, she couldn't care, it was just going to hurt when things here fell apart, when Regina finally succeeded in running her out of town, when Henry tired of her, when something happened, like it always did. "Trust me. I know that."

Mary Margaret didn't comment on that, she just nodded again and then looked at her watch. "I should get going, or I'm going to be late for my shift." She smiled, a little brighter this time, a little more Mary Margaret, and she came closer to Emma, patting her on the arm. Emma stiffened at the contact, but if Mary Margaret noticed she didn't say anything "Henry'll be okay," she assured, before hiking her bag a little higher on her shoulder. "I'll see you tonight?" At Emma's nod, she tipped her head a little in farewell and left.

Emma watched her go, making up her mind. Henry would be okay, because she would go and talk to Archie right now and figure out just what he had been thinking. As long as she was here, she was sure of one thing. She never wanted her son showing up on her doorstep crying again.

Her gut churned at that. _Her_ son.

She was screwed.

* * *

I just wanted to say thank you for all the great reviews and feedback I've gotten! I'm glad people are enjoying the series, I'm enjoying writing it. As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. As always, reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	6. Asked and Answered

**ASKED AND ANSWERED**

The most annoying part of this was that she cared at all. Emma wasn't sure why she cared if Graham was sleeping with Regina, it was no business of hers either way. She could only explain it away with the fact that she couldn't stand the woman so much. She liked Graham, and that was part of the problem. She had enjoyed being his deputy, a fact that still surprised her. Now, though, imagining him with her, well, it was making her crazy.

She was pacing across the living room of their apartment, and she looked at the clock again. Where the hell was Mary Margaret, anyway? She was always home before this, and if she wasn't going to be, she usually would call to let her know, or have mentioned it. She guessed she could still be with David, but that was.. well, that was it's own terrible idea. She had encouraged Mary Margaret this morning, which had seemed like a fair thing at the time, but now the whole thing just seemed stupid.

That was what was making her so mad. She had trusted Graham, for some reason, and this felt like a betrayal. But it wasn't. What were they? They were just coworkers, nothing more. She had thought they were friends, but what evidence did she have of that? He'd lied to her so that he could go off and sleep with Regina. That was probably the real reason he'd made her his deputy at all, he needed a way to sleep with her any time he wanted. Maybe that was the real reason Regina'd put a deputy in his budget. She was just the patsy.

She hated that.

Emma had never particularly enjoyed being someone's fool. She'd felt like someone's fool since she'd been a little child, for one reason or another. She could still remember that first awful realization, that first sinking in her gut that told her that she wasn't _really _wanted, that she wasn't really important. A sad and lonely child, nothing more. A number in the system that didn't really matter, not that much. The worst part, the part that tore at her sometimes was that she believed it. She wasn't entirely sure she was wrong, and that felt even worse. Her parents had tossed her aside, other parents had tossed her aside, and the more she thought about it, the more she had realized that she was the common thread.

Not that Emma could place why Graham sleeping with Regina had brought all this up. Well, that wasn't true. There was a direct line between being used by foster parents, being used by Neal, being used by everyone, to being used by Graham. Being used by Graham to sleep with the woman who enjoyed holding her own son over her. That hurt most of all

"Fuck." She sank down on the couch, rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her head in her hands. It shouldn't hurt. It especially shouldn't hurt because Graham was sleeping with Regina, because she had the awful feeling that part of the reason this hurt as much as it did was because it was _Regina _he was sleeping with. Would it really bother her less if he was sleeping with say, Mary Margaret? Yes, she thought, because at least she liked Mary Margaret. At least Mary Margaret was kind and good and someone worth Graham.

Huffing, she stood up, throwing her arms down and pacing again. Why did she care about whether or not Graham had someone worth him? He was just Graham, with his stupid leather jacket and his vests and his tie. He could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, and it was no business of hers. She could convince herself of that. She had to. She couldn't care what Graham did, she'd just end up hurt if she did that. She always ended up hurt when she did that. She had no desire to go through that again. She'd made her stance clear to Graham- she wasn't going to be covering for him at nights anymore. He could fire her and find himself another deputy for that.

She looked at the clock. And besides all that, where was Mary Margaret? It had been late when she'd gotten home, and the clock certainly didn't stop for anyone. She felt vaguely concerned that she was concerned. Mary Margaret was a grown woman, and like Graham, what difference did it make to her where she was? Mary Margaret especially sure as hell didn't owe her anything. She'd opened her apartment to her and been nothing but kind. She could stay out as late as she wanted. But she did care, and she was worried.

This town was screwing with her head. She threw her hands up in exasperation before rubbing a hand harshly across her forehead, exhaling. She thumbed her phone in her pocket, debating whether or not she should call and check on Mary Margaret. But as though a sign from the heavens (saving her from humiliation), that was when the door opened. Mary Margaret came in, her hair a bit out of place, but generally looking fine. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you to be home," she said, biting her lip. Emma noted that she seemed a little different, almost guilty, but ignored it.

"Well, no, I _was _working, patrolling, like the deputy is supposed to," she said, pacing again, as Mary Margaret set her bag down and pulled off her coat, though her eyes never left Emma, cutting a path across the apartment. "But then I caught Graham coming out of Regina's." She couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice.

That did stop Mary Margaret. "Graham and Regina?"

Emma nodded. "Apparently. I mean, I don't care-" Mary Margaret's eyebrow went up at that. Emma felt a little blush rise in her cheeks. She didn't care. "I don't! But he lied to me. Told me some story about having to feed puppies at the animal shelter, and instead he was sleeping with _her._"

Mary Margaret shook her head, crossing towards the counter and perching on one of the stools there. "It is surprising. I never would have thought he would be interested in her," she noted softly, tilting her head to the side and thinking. "But you don't care." There was a twinkle in her eye at that, some sort of tease. But like the other night, Emma couldn't place it, so she just ignored the subtext and went with the literal instead.

"No, I don't care. He can do what he wants. He just can't use me to do it." All of which was accurate, caring about Graham or not. She stopped and turned on her heels towards Mary Margaret, put her rage aside for a moment. "What about you? You were out late." She couldn't help a little smile. "David?"

"Ha." The little laugh was completely devoid of humor and considerably more bitter then she would have expected from Mary Margaret. "He made a choice." There was some anger in her tone, Emma noted, probably the first she'd heard from Mary Margaret, but mainly there was just hurt. It twisted something within her. She didn't want Mary Margaret to be hurt. "He's going back to her."

A surprising amount of guilt tore through her. She was the one who had told Mary Margaret to go for it. What had she been thinking? Considering her own track record, what was she doing telling Mary Margaret to get involved with a married man? She was a fool, as always. As ever. "I'm sorry," she said truthfully. "He's a fool." That was also true.

Mary Margaret looked up at her, searched her face, and Emma had the oddest feeling that this was how people felt when she was deciding whether or not they were telling the truth. Seeming satisfied with what she found, she looked down again. "Well, he did what he thought was right."

Emma snorted at that. "That's a terrible reason for being a coward." And it was. As far as she was concerned, intention only meant so much, and that intention meant about nothing. "He shouldn't have led you on, either way." She knew how that felt, to be led on by someone you thought loved you.

Mary Margaret looked at her again, and this time Emma could practically see the question on her tongue, but she looked away again, and shrugged. "It is what it is." After that, she looked back up with a smile, the usual Mary Margaret returned. "I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

Emma nodded. "Sure. And I am sorry, Mary Margaret."

Mary Margaret smiled at that, walked over and opened her arms, giving Emma a look one might give a frightened dog. "I'm going to hug you, now," she warned, and then pulled Emma into an embrace. She stiffened, of course, and wasn't quite sure where to put her hands, and she was entirely unsurprised to find that Mary Margaret was a good hugger. Of course she was. She supposed it came with the fairy tale princess schoolteacher territory.

She laughed awkwardly after they broke, touching the back of her head with her hand self-consciously. "Good night, Mary Margaret."

She turned and walked up the stairs, and she couldn't help the little bit of warmth she felt at Mary Margaret's response to her retreating back. "Good night, Emma."

* * *

Another huge thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, especially since chapter one. You guys make it worth it. As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. Reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	7. Three Steps Back

**THREE STEPS BACK**

This was hell.

Staring down at her shoes in the hospital, Emma was quite sure this was hell. She'd been unceremoniously thrown out of the proceedings of Graham's death and arrangements by Regina (who was apparently his emergency contact, which was ridiculous. Was the damn woman _everyone's _emergency contact?) and now she had nothing to do except wait for Mary Margaret. Whale had insisted she not walk home, and since she didn't have her car since she'd ridden with the ambulance, she was stuck here, which was a serious problem. She would have loved to be anywhere else.

The last time she'd felt this bad at a hospital had been when she'd broken her arm trying to climb out of a window at one of her foster homes. She would give anything to be back there, anything to not be here. Anything at all. She hadn't even been able to give Mary Margaret reasons, or thoughts, or anything. She hadn't trusted herself beyond 'can you pick up my car and pick me up at the hospital?' and after receiving a confirmation, she had hung up, halfway through Mary Margaret's question. She didn't want to answer those questions. She had no intention of answering anything at all.

Words were hard to force past the pain centered in her chest, anyway. The pain and the terror and the loss that she didn't understand and didn't want. It was creeping up and threatening to choke her, to kill her where she stood. She wanted none of it. So she'd managed to lock it down, though the effort left her feeling haggard and worn and worse then she had in a long time. And Graham was dead, on top of all of that.

Graham was dead.

Those three words seemed impossible, especially strung together in that order, strung together like this. It hung in her stomach like a terrible weight, the weight of everything hanging over her. She would give anything to be anywhere else at this moment. For anyone else to be dead, for anything else to have happened. Graham was dead, and they had kissed. She wasn't even sure who had kissed who. He had kissed her, first, but as for the second, well, she couldn't really say. It had mutual, and that, somehow, had made it worse. It was the kind of kiss she shouldn't allow herself. The kind of kiss she should have known better about.

It was unbelievably unfair that he was dead, even less fair that it had happened this way. A freak accident, they said. No indicators, no heart problems, just a freak accident. A bunch of euphemisms for what it really was. An awful, brutal, death in her arms. They'd had to pull her away when the paramedics got there- she had been trying CPR, desperately, when it had become clear that he wasn't breathing, but of course it had done nothing. When did anything she'd tried do anything? Henry called her the savior, but she couldn't save anyone. Of course she couldn't.

She was saved from her thoughts by the one voice she wanted to hear, but also had no desire to face. "Emma?"

Mary Margaret was standing at her elbow, and she had no idea how she'd even gotten so close without her noticing. She looked at her friend, and there was so much worry, and kindness, and understanding and everything else on her face that it pissed her off. There were tear tracts on her face, so she'd probably heard. "Hello," she replied, standing. "Thank you for bringing my car." She was being weirdly formal, and she knew it, but she didn't know what else to do. She stood and thrust her hands in her pockets.

"Of course." Mary Margaret reached out a hand as though to touch her arm or something, but she stopped halfway, pulled back. Seemed to think better of it. Good, she should. "Are you okay?"

That just irritated her even more. "I'm _fine. _Whale should have just let me walk home, I didn't need to call you." Without waiting for an answer, she set off towards the entrance, and after a moment, the sound of footsteps behind her let her know that Mary Margaret had followed her. She flung open the door to the hospital, irritated when the spring load on it didn't let her push it open faster. Her little yellow bug was easy to spot in the mostly empty parking lot. She made a bee line for it, paying no attention to whether or not Mary Margaret was following her, or how quickly she was walking. She didn't much care either way. Mary Margaret could do as she pleased so long as she gave her the keys.

Reaching the driver's side door, she turned back. Mary Margaret was only a few feet away, looking at her with concern- it deepened the lines on her face. "Can I have the keys?" She held out her hand expectantly. Mary Margaret bit her lip and looked away before looking back at her with that same gaze that made Emma want to scream because she didn't understand it.

"Dr. Whale said I shouldn't let you drive right now. That you might be-" she paused and swallowed at the withering look that Emma was giving her, but she continued. "In shock."

"I'm _fine,_" she repeated, still holding her hand out. When Mary Margaret just furrowed her brow but made no move to give her the keys, she finally gave up. She felt a little like she wanted to stomp her foot, do _something _to make her feel less frustrated, but that seemed a bit childish, and she didn't want that. She didn't want any of this, but she wanted that even less. "Fine, whatever. Drive me home."

Mary Margaret seemed to sigh with relief at that, and she crossed around to the other side of the car, getting in the passenger side wordlessly once it had been unlocked. As she pulled out, Mary Margaret spoke. "So we don't have to talk if you don't want to-"

"I don't want to," Emma said sharply, her arms crossed over her chest. She stared out of the window. "I'm fine, and I don't want to talk about it." Her tone brokered no argument.

But she didn't stop. "I was just going to say that when you are ready, you're welcome to talk to me. Or I'm sure Archie would be happy to talk to you." Emma said nothing to that, just tensed her jaw and continued to stare out the window. She only cast her eyes down when they passed the Sheriff's station, but said nothing about it. When they pulled up to the apartment building, she didn't wait for Mary Margaret to even turn the car off, she just opened the door and got out, heading into the building, figuring that her friend was perfectly capable of locking the car herself.

She tried the door to the apartment, hoping that maybe it hadn't been locked in the rush to get to her, but of course Mary Margaret had locked it, and she had her keys. Damn it.

To her credit, though, Mary Margaret said nothing to her as she opened the door. Emma went in, saying nothing until she had reached the bottom stair. "I'm going to bed," she called over her shoulder- and she could feel her control crumbling even as she did.

"Emma-" She stopped, but she didn't look back at Mary Margaret. Her hand just tightened on the banister, and she looked down. She could not loose control here. Not now, not really ever. She couldn't afford it. And what would be the point, anyway? It wouldn't bring Graham back, it wouldn't make things any better. No, losing control was a pointless feeling she wouldn't indulge. "Do you want to talk?"

"Why would I want to talk?" She asked, still not looking back, her hand tightening even harder on the bannister. "I'm fine."

"I just don't understand what happened, Whale said he had some sort of heart attack." Emma closed her eyes tight. It sounded so simple when it was said like that. Like he hadn't clutched at his chest in agony and fallen towards her. Like she hadn't held him in her arms and cried and begged for some mercy. Like she hadn't done CPR until her arms were numb. Like she hadn't felt so crushed in a long time. "Come on, have some tea, even if you don't want to talk. Whale was concerned for you, I'm concerned for you." There was silence for a moment. Emma didn't dare move. "You're not alone here, Emma." Her voice was quiet, but Emma heard every word in the quiet apartment.

That was it. The emotion of the moment and all it implied was too much. And the false sentiment infuriated her. She had been alone her entire life. Tonight hadn't changed that, it had just confirmed it. Emma turned and walked back down the stairs, and she glanced up at Mary Margaret long enough to note the hopeful look on her face. It twisted something inside her, and that was finally the last straw. "Will you stop?" Emma demanded, throwing her hands up. "I don't need your pity."

"Emma, it's not-"

"Just _stop!_" she said again, surer this time. "I don't need you to baby me. I don't care. It doesn't matter. I should have known better then to trust anyone." She noted the way that Mary Margaret had flinched like she'd been slapped when she spoke, but she swallowed the guilt, not apologizing. It was true, all of it, and she had never been one to apologize for telling the truth. "I'm going out. I just need to go." And without waiting for a response or even thinking to grab her keys, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

She regretted leaving almost immediately. It was a chilly night, and she'd left her jacket in the office after everything that had happened, and she certainly wasn't going to go back and get it now. She'd have to go back there tomorrow (or she had a horrible feeling she might never be able to go back) and she didn't want to give Regina cause for throwing her out when Graham had seen her as fit to be his deputy (and that seemed like just the sort of thing Regina would do) but that didn't mean she had to face it tonight. She wasn't entirely sure she could.

To be honest, she wasn't sure where she should go. She just knew she couldn't sit and look at Mary Margaret looking at her like she was some delicate girl who could shatter into pieces at the drop of a hat. That thought just hurt her to think about. She had worked so hard not to be that girl, built her walls for a reason. As Mary Margaret had pointed out that morning (had it really only been that morning) those walls kept her safe, but they also kept out love. At this point, she wasn't sure that was such a lousy trade.

In the end, she sought refuge in Henry's castle. She sat, knees pulled up to her chest, her back against the beaten little boards that created the wall, looking up at the night sky. She shivered against the cold air, but it didn't matter. She rested her head against the boards, closing her eyes and swallowing, hating the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn't move when she heard soft footsteps, the creak of the floorboards. She just concentrated on holding it together. But all she could think was that no one had ever come after her. No one had ever cared enough. No foster parents, no other children, no one. They'd just let her run. She'd been fine with it, even though it had hurt. She had been better of that way. She'd been so sure. But someone had come. Someone had known her well enough to know where she'd go. They'd come because because they cared that she was hurting because Graham was dead. They knew her well enough to know that Graham's death would hurt her.

Graham was dead.

She couldn't even help it as the sobs began. "Oh, Emma." The words from Mary Margaret hardly registered, and she shut her eyes tighter. She wasn't sure when, exactly, Mary Margaret started hugging her, or when that hug turned into Mary Margaret holding her, her head tucked in to her chest, her chin gently resting atop her head, her hand rubbing circles in her back. She wasn't even sure how Mary Margaret got her arms around her in the first place, except for the obvious, which was that she had let her hold her, which seemed impossible. Why would she ever allow that? Maybe because she needed to.

And if she needed that, who was to say she didn't need the hand that gripped tightly to the fabric of Mary Margaret's shirt, or the way her head burrowed into her friend's shoulder, desperate for some relief from the pain that seemed to be clawing its way out of her chest. But Mary Margaret said nothing, no platitudes. She just murmured softly against Emma's hair and held her a little tighter. It was such an unbelievable relief to have someone to hold her while she fell apart that another wave of desperation tore through her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't have this weakness. But right now she couldn't bring herself to tear away from Mary Margaret. Her grip was so gentle, so kind, that she needed it. Needed it for Graham, needed it for all the times she hadn't had it.

Her breathing evened out eventually, and the tears slowed, but she didn't release her hold on Mary Margaret. Not yet. She hated that she'd made a fool of herself, but she couldn't bring herself to stop just yet. And Mary Margaret's hand hadn't stilled on her back, still rubbing circles. After she'd allowed herself enough weakness, she pulled back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She noted the dark spot on her friend's shirt where her tears had soaked in with embarrassment. "I'm sorry about that," she said finally, clearing her throat, which was still thick with emotion.

"It's okay," said Mary Margaret gently, patting her knee, but making no move to embrace her again, which she was thankful for.

"He kissed me," she said softly, staring down at her hands now, instead of up at the stars. "And then he died. And I could do nothing about it."

She could hear Mary Margaret gasp and then let out a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry." And as usual with Mary Margaret, there was only sincerity in her voice. They sat like that for a while. Emma shivered again, but didn't move. Mary Margaret seemed perfectly content to sit here with her all night if she needed to. She didn't understand it, any of it. But it was better then being alone, she had to admit. It was better then feeling like her heart was clawing its way out of her chest. Which she still did, but it was a little easier, somehow. With her here. That was an emotion she could question later. For now she would take it.

"Why'd you-" She decided against that question halfway through it. She didn't want the answer. She couldn't handle it right now. Not like this. "How did you know where I went?"

A soft laugh from Mary Margaret. "A lucky guess, I suppose." Another few moments of silence passed between them, but this time it was Mary Margaret who spoke. "I meant what I said before, Emma. You don't have to be alone. You can be, if you want to be." She reached over slowly, as though Emma might bolt, and took her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. "But you don't have to be."

Emma let out a shuddering breath. Graham was still dead. This was still awful. But she could do it, maybe. Maybe like this. Maybe not alone.

* * *

I really like this one, so I hope you enjoy it too. I still miss Graham, poor guy. As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. Reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	8. An Apple a Day

**AN APPLE A DAY**

It had taken Emma a stupid amount of time to find a replacement toaster in town. It had taken shopping around the little mom and pop shops in town for a couple hours until she'd found a suitable replacement for the one she'd broken (she still wasn't sure how exactly she'd managed to break it. She hadn't done anything _that _bad to it. But she supposed that appliance abuse in general was exactly the best) it had been easy enough to find a large bow to stick on top of it. She had felt bad about the toaster ever since she'd first broken it, but she'd been so caught up in all the hullabaloo about becoming Sheriff and winning the election that she'd not had time to buy a replacement (and neither had Mary Margaret).

But somehow, now, toaster sitting on the counter, it didn't feel like enough. She wasn't exactly sure what it was that she wanted to thank Mary Margaret for, and for that matter, she wasn't even sure when she had decided this had become more about some sort of thanks then just replacing the toaster she had broken. But it had, for better or for worse, and now she let out a frustrated breath. She had the toaster, but she felt like she should do something more.

She frowned, crossing her arms on the counter and resting her chin on top of them, staring at the toaster box. Glancing at the clock, she did a quick calculation. She probably had another hour before Mary Margaret got home. What could she do in an hour that could hope to make up for all that she'd done for her? She wasn't sure, but she knew she had to think of something. She tapped her finger on the counter, before finally, finally, getting an idea.

For a long time growing up, she hadn't really been in one place long enough (or lived in an actual apartment for long enough, once she was older) to be particularly good at cooking, but there was one thing she had learned to make. In her brief stint in Tallahassee, there had been a very, very good place on one of the corners near the huge state college's campus and not too far from the state capital- the pizza, especially, was good. She'd usually avoided the area because she hated dealing with the college students, but this one restaurant had the best pizza, so she had taken up waitressing there, and had eventually convinced the cook to pass her the recipe (in secret, of course). She'd never been very good at making the dough, but the sauce was always good with spaghetti- and she had made some the other night when she had been bored and Mary Margaret had been out (and making the sauce was better then thinking about this whole Sheriff election or, well, Graham) so she had that.

She walked over to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and seeing- yes, they had pasta. She went to the fridge. Ground hamburger, too. Spaghetti and meatballs it was. Not that she was a particularly good cook, but considering all the times that Mary Margaret had cooked for her (and lately, had been doing her laundry and just waving her off when she asked if she could do some of Mary Margaret's laundry in return), it seemed like maybe it would be something a little bit more then just a toaster to replace the one that she'd broken in a rage.

That decided, she set some water on to boil and pulled the jar with the sauce out of the fridge along with the requisite ingredients to make meat balls, which she hastily started to throw together, trying to remember what she usually put into them. Emma had a horrible habit of cooking by trial and error and almost never sticking to any sort of recipe because she rarely had the patience for it. Sometimes that worked out well, but then she found that the next time she went to cook something, she tended to spend most of her time trying to replicate what she had done the time before, which usually didn't end so well.

As a result of being so distracted by the basics of how to make the food and what she was putting in it, she was making quite a mess in the kitchen as she cooked, and didn't even notice until she finally rested against the counter, the meatballs steaming in the sauce and the pasta cooking and looked around, and realized that there was stuff _everywhere. _Her room was a mess, a fact she'd never apologized for, but at least she knew why it was a mess. She couldn't even explain how some of the mess had gotten in the kitchen.

She glanced at the clock. Mary Margaret was going to be home any minute, and far from giving her food and a toaster, she was giving her a mess. Some roommate she was.

Hastily, she started trying to clean up the flour and salt that was scattered across the counter (which again, didn't even quite make sense- she'd used breadcrumbs, how had flour gotten everywhere) which was when she realized that she'd knocked the flour out of the cabinet when she'd gotten out the breadcrumbs and it was now littering the flour of the kitchen in little clouds of flour. The cleaning just sort of devolved from there into a whirlwind of paper towels and scrubbing and placing plates in the sink haphazardly.

She was distracted by the hissing sound as the water of the pasta boiled over the pot. "Shit!" she said, dropping the towel she was using to clean off the counter and running over to the stove, picking up the pot to move it and nearly dropping it- the handles were hot. She hadn't paid any attention to the fact that the handles were metal- a design flaw if she'd ever seen one. She shoved it onto one of the cool burners, a string of curses coming out of her that would have made a sailor blush.

Holding her red palm, she looked over, and noticed a very bemused looking Mary Margaret standing, her hand on the doorknob, her other hand on the strap of her bag, looking at her with something between pity and amusement. "Hello," she said cooly, clearly suppressing either a smirk or a laugh.

"Oh, uh, hi," she said, and she could feel her face starting to turn red even as she walked to the sink and turned on the water, thrusting her hand under it, flexing her fingers with relief. "I got you a toaster," she said sheepishly, pulling her hand out from under the water after a moment.

"I see that," her roommate responded, closing the door before crossing the room and putting her bag down on one of chairs, walking around the counter and standing next to her at the sink. "It smells good. I didn't know you cooked."

Emma snorted at that, turning off the water and wiping off her hand with a towel. She looked down- it was still red, and the line of the handle was white- the edge burned a bit harder into her hand then the rest. "I don't really. But sometimes well, you have to eat. And I was trying to find a way to thank you. Or something." She was embarrassed now. It sounded silly. Who was she, trying to cook for someone to thank them? Who was she kidding?

She didn't look at Mary Margaret, but when after a long pause, Mary Margaret _still _hadn't said anything to her, she looked up at her friend. Her head was tilted slightly to the side, as though she was trying to divine something from her face or the fall of her hair or something. "Say something, please." She said finally, giving a humorless laugh after she spoke, putting the colander in the sink and remembering to grab two potholders this time, pouring the contents in while she waited for an answer.

"I was just- thank you." Emma paused, her hands still resting on the edge of the sink as the steam rose from the pasta and she looked at her friend. "No one's ever made a dinner to thank me before."

Emma frowned at that. "Really?"

"I mean, one of my students brings me a pear sometimes-"

Emma snorted. "A pear? Isn't it supposed to be an apple?"

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose at that. "I don't like apples much. Not sure why."

Emma couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that. "Don't tell Henry that."

"Oh." Mary Margaret laughed, and shook her head. "I suppose Snow White wouldn't like apples."

Emma crossed to the stovetop and pulled the top off the pot with the sauce and meatballs, and couldn't help but smile at the smell. It did smell good, so that was something. "Like I said, don't tell Henry." She pulled the pot off the heat. "But I just wanted to thank you. Either way." She took the plate that Mary Margaret offered her. "Thanks." She started preparing a plate of food. "You know, thank you for everything you did to get me elected." She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice a little quieter this time. "For what you said at the debate."

"Well, I appreciate it, Emma, really I do, but you don't need to thank me."

She shrugged, handing the plate to Mary Margaret without looking at her. She took it with a soft thank you. She started making her own plate in silence for a moment before speaking again. "I do, though. I just... do." Feeling awkward, she laughed. "I mean, I broke your toaster, it's the least I can do."

Emma followed Mary Margaret to the table with the food, sitting down in her usual seat. She'd set the table sometime in the midst of her cooking and mess making adventure. She picked up her fork and looked up at Mary Margaret, who was still smiling. "This is much better then a toaster," she said, spearing a meatball, and popping it in her mouth with a wink.

Emma smiled, and dug into her own plate. It really was.

* * *

So yeah. I'm working on Part 9, but it's been taking longer then usual. But I hope this story helps you get through hiatus! As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. Reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


	9. Mitigating Circumstances

**MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES**

Emma couldn't help it. Maybe it was foolish of her, but of course she had helped the children get out of trouble- as a former thief herself, she couldn't exactly hold it against them. And at least they'd been trying to help out. She'd just been stealing for herself. Stealing to get by, sure, but stealing for herself all the same. No one had ever been able to call her soft, or easily tricked, or anything like that.

But two faces like that looking at her after everything else that had happened, and she was finding herself uncomfortably disarmed. Which was how she had let herself be roped in to paying for what they had tried to steal and talking the shop owner out of charging them with anything. After all, she reasoned, what good was going to come with putting two down on their luck kids in the holding cell of the station? Nothing. And after Regina had left, the pharmacist had been much more amiable to listening to her talk them out of trouble.

The girl, Ava, hadn't looked at her when she'd given her the bags of stuff she'd paid for. Her eyes had remained firmly glued to the floor. She'd muttered a thank you, and Emma had noticed a certain tint to her cheeks. Shame. But not at being caught, of course. She recognized that shame from her own childhood. The shame of needing help- the shame of being caught needing it. It broke something within her. She wasn't ready to see her own pain played out on another person's face. It caught her off guard. It caught her even more off guard that she cared.

So she'd brushed off the thanks and driven them home. But looking at Ava when they left, she knew something wasn't right. She watched them slip off the front porch of the house and sighed. Of course. She'd pulled the squad car over and gotten out and followed them. They hadn't looked back, hadn't noticed her, and why would they? She had a feeling (a sinking one) that they weren't used to adults much caring what they did.

When it had all clicked, and she'd realized just how alone they were, that sinking feeling had become a pit, and for not the first, second, or ninth time since Graham had died, she'd wished he was here, because she didn't want to deal with this. "Where are your parents?" she asked, trying desperately to maintain her cool exterior.

"We don't have any," Ava responded, and the way her chin jutted out reminded her of herself as a kid- tough. Or at least, trying desperately to be.

So she did the only thing she could to hold on to her control. "Come on," she said, pointing one finger towards the front door and the waiting squad car. Nicholas glanced at his sister and didn't obey until he got a small nod from her. They went obediently, and Emma tried to figure out how she was going to explain this to Mary Margaret.

Once they were in the squad car, she looked in the rearview mirror. As they pulled away from the little house, she noticed an empty look in their eyes. She caught her own eye in the mirror and noticed that same look in her own. No, this wasn't good. Not at all.

* * *

Mary Margaret stood in the doorway of Emma's room for a moment before pulling the door shut carefully and descending the stairs. She had seen Ava staring at the ceiling as she laid in bed, her brother curled up next to her and she felt a pang of sympathy the girl. She couldn't believe she hadn't known that she and her brother had no parents. How had she not noticed? She had been asking herself those questions all day. She hesitated on the bottom step, biting her lip as she thought.

"Are they alright?" Emma's cautious question broke her free of her thoughts. She blinked and looked over at her roommate, her face breaking into a reassuring smile.

"They're doing as well as you could expect," she said kindly, walking over to the kitchen and pulling two mugs out of the cabinet, hazarding a glance at Emma, who was fidgeting with the corner of what she assumed was their file. "How are you doing?" she asked, feeling brave.

Emma's head snapped in her direction at that, her eyes narrowed. She could practically feel the other woman's walls go up. It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. She remembered, sadly, how it had seemed that maybe Emma had been doing better in the wake of Graham's death. In moments like this, she thought that was maybe wishful thinking. "I'm fine," she said in a guarded tone, looking back down at the papers. "I just want to make sure they're alright."

Mary Margaret nodded, prepping hot chocolate mindlessly, still turning over Emma's actions in her mind. It was clear to her, even if it wasn't to Emma, that her concern with Ava and Nicholas had more to do with her then it did with the children. But she couldn't say that, lest she get browbeaten again. Once the hot chocolate was finished, she crossed to the kitchen table, placing a mug in front of Emma, whose fidgeting stilled for a moment before she reached out and grabbed the mug. She looked up at her and smiled, just a little. Mary Margaret smiled in return. "Thanks," she said.

It still hurt her the amount that Emma seemed surprised by little kindnesses like a mug of hot chocolate. How awful things must have been that even that seemed like an impossible thing. It was moments like this that made her feel a swell of sympathy for Emma, even anger on her behalf. She was so kind, beneath it all, Mary Margaret was sure of it. There was a difference between being nice and being kind, and it was clear to her, even if Emma was blind to it, that she was very kind. "You're welcome."

"I just want to help them," Emma said suddenly, returning to fidgeting with the file. Mary Margaret was troubled to note a little blush in her cheeks- not a usual emotion for her. She also noticed that the look Emma had now, despondent, as though nothing would be right again was troublingly similar to the one she'd seen on Ava's face not five minutes ago. But she didn't say that. "I have to."

It clicked, then. Of course she had to. No wonder her facial expressions ran so close to Ava's. She was a fool for not noticing sooner. In some small way, maybe Emma thought that if she helped them, she helped herself. Mary Margaret couldn't take that from her. She reached out and put her hand over Emma's fingers, stilling them. "You will." Emma looked up at her and searched her face for some sort of reassurance and looked down, seeming to have found what she was looking for.

"I hope so."

* * *

Emma knew she was playing a dangerous game, playing fast and loose with the truth. She was lying to Henry, lying to Mary Margaret, lying to too many people. There was no way it would end well, hadn't she learned that lesson? But she certainly couldn't tell the truth. She wasn't even sure that she hadn't lied to the children when she'd said she'd find their father. She had no doubt she could find him- she certainly had enough experience in that department.

But what if he didn't want to be found? What if he shouldn't be found? What if they were better off without him- none of those were good thoughts, or ones she wanted to entertain. So she wouldn't. She was determined that they wouldn't go into the system if she could help it. If she could find him, if he could be found, she would. And she would make him understand that he couldn't just pass them off, Regina's plans for them and the foster system be damned.

She was so wrapped up in her own resolve that she nearly ran headlong into Mary Margaret, whose arms were crossed over her chest as she walked along. "Emma?" the question was breathless as she beheld her.

"Yes?" She answered the question more out of politeness then anything else. She was in a hurry, stuck under the weight of Regina's arbitrary decision that those kids needed to be in Boston tonight (probably trying to keep her from doing exactly what she was doing, now that she thought about it, though she couldn't imagine what Regina could have against children, but it was Regina, who knew what her motives were).

"Is everything alright?" There was no probing implicit in Mary Margaret's tone- at least not that she could detect- but she still didn't like the question. She didn't want to answer it, mainly because she knew it wouldn't have an easy answer, a fact that she resented.

"I'm fine, Mary Margaret," she said, and there was a little bit of an edge to her voice, mainly because she could feel her control slipping, and she hated that. But she shouldn't take it out on Mary Margaret. Of all the things her friend deserved, it wasn't that. She sighed. "I just have to find this guy before Regina ships them off to Boston," she said, shrugging.

Mary Margaret's face instantly softened at that. Her tone was kind. "Of course. I was just heading home." There were so many things she wanted to say, thank yous, questions, all of them on the tip of her tongue. But she didn't.

"I'll see you later, then," she said, and she set off without waiting for an answer, lest her emotions get out of control. The memory of the night after Graham's death and the mess she'd been clawed at her. No, none of that was okay.

* * *

After Emma had left after admitting Henry's theory that she was her mother (an interesting one, if she'd ever heard it), she'd returned to folding laundry for a time but found that she couldn't concentrate. Something was nagging at the back of her head, some great pressure asking her to realize something, but she couldn't place it. So she ended up sitting on the end of her bed holding a shirt in her hand instead. She wasn't sure why the implication bothered her so much- it wasn't like Henry's book was true, but something was tugging at her, still.

Luckily, she was broken free of her thoughts by the entrance of Emma, who closed the door slowly before turning and freezing when she caught Mary Margaret looking at her from across the room. "I thought you'd be asleep," she admitted, though she didn't move from where she was standing near the stairs, her hand hovering over the bannister.

Mary Margaret noted that she wouldn't meet her eyes, choosing instead to look almost anywhere else. "No, not yet," she said, looking down at the shirt that was no balled up in her hand, shaking it out and starting to fold it. "Did you get your air?"

Emma didn't answer for a moment, and Mary Margaret looked up. She was still standing at the stairs, keys clutched in her hands, seeming to decide whether or not she wanted to say something. "Yeah," she said finally, before walking over to the table and dropping her keys in their usual place. She crossed the room, crossing her arm over her chest and leaning against the beam just in front of her bed.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Well, that's good," she said, smiling at her roommate. She got a faint smile in response. She noticed that Emma was uncomfortable again, and she wondered if this went back to the suggestion that she was her mother. She hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable with her joke about Emma having her chin, but maybe she'd pushed things too far. "Emma-"

Her roommate held up her hand to stop her, and she did. "It's okay, Mary Margaret," she said, and though she didn't look at her, Mary Margaret got the impression that it was- or at least the statement wasn't a total lie. "I'm okay."

She nodded. "You did a good thing, with those kids," she said after a moment, folding another shirt, and glancing at Emma, who was looking at her now. "You helped them."

Emma shrugged. "It's my job."

Mary Margaret stopped, put down her shirt. "No, your job would have been to just take them to Boston. You did more then that. You gave them a family." She didn't know why it felt so important to suddenly impress upon Emma the importance of what she'd done. But she did.

But she just shrugged again. "I guess."

She supposed that she'd pushed enough for one night, so she let the subject drop. "Well, I put some laundry in your room," she said, picking up her shirt again and continuing to fold.

Emma snorted and shook her head. "You don't have to do that, you know." Now it was her turn to just shrug. "You should let me do some of yours, or something."

"It's okay," she said, putting her shirt in the pile and picking it up, opening a drawer and starting to put them away. "I really don't mind."

"Now you sound like a mother," Emma muttered, but it didn't escape Mary Margaret's notice that there was an undercurrent of affection to her sarcasm. "Anyway," she said, clearing her throat and shifting in a way that let Mary Margaret know that Emma was still uncomfortable with that subject (a huge surprise, to be sure), "I'm heading to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night," she said, stopping in her motions to give Emma a warm smile, which to her surprise, was returned.

"Good night." As she watched her roommate go, Mary Margaret couldn't help but wish that wherever Emma's mother was, she got to meet her, someday. She couldn't help the pang though, that told her that things probably weren't that simple. When it came to Emma Swan, especially, things never were.

* * *

This took forever. I apologize for that. Part 10 will come soonish, hopefully. As always, a huge thanks to adventuresinstorybrooke for betaing/generally being great. Reviews are much appreciated!

Cheers!


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